


Not Exactly Lerner & Loewe

by Liviapenn



Category: The Persuaders
Genre: 1970s, Bickering, Flirting, Horse Racing, Jet-Setting Playboys In Love, M/M, Yuletide 2012
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-20
Updated: 2012-12-20
Packaged: 2017-11-21 17:11:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/600164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liviapenn/pseuds/Liviapenn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Considering how picky His Lordship could be about the little things in life, and how little real hardship he'd ever actually lived through, Danny considered it his assigned mission in life to yank the guy's chain and ruffle his feathers every now and again.</p><p>If that maybe resulted, this time, in some other bits getting yanked and ruffled, well, Danny had no objection.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Exactly Lerner & Loewe

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alpheratz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alpheratz/gifts).



Danny woke up feeling strange and restless. There was a prickly feeling at the back of his neck. His hands were twitching. Something was coming. 

He got up and went for a jog through the park to get his heart rate up and his brain working, then stopped back at his flat for a shower and some coffee and toast. After that he went for a stroll in Mayfair, doing some window shopping, but nothing caught his interest, and not too long after that, Danny found himself across the street from Brett's place. He shrugged and wandered on up. Maybe the Judge had something for him and Brett; maybe that was what his premonition this morning had been about. Worth checking out, anyway. 

He'd tried to explain his premonitions to Brett before, and all His Lordship had to say was: _how can you know something's coming and not know if it's bad or good?_ Well, it didn't work like that, was all. Maybe this was Danny's infamous lucky streak about to kick in, maybe he was going to hit nothing but green lights all week. Or maybe this was his sixth sense about trouble, the twitchy feeling that sometimes warned Danny that the bottom was about to drop out and it was time to start talking fast.

Either way, or whatever it was-- it wouldn't be boring.

Danny knocked, then let himself in using the key Brett had lent him for emergencies. He wasn't really expecting Brett to be up and around. Fifteen generations of titled nobility and apparently they'd just plain bred out the ability to get anything done before eleven AM. But hey, miracle of miracles, Brett was up and dressed, tie perfectly knotted, talking on the phone. He looked meaningfully at the key in Danny's hand, glared, then went back to his call. "Actually, Judith, he just walked in-- I'll ask." 

"Judith, who's Judith," Danny inquired as Brett covered the mouthpiece of the phone. "Do I know a Judith?"

"She's the wife of a dear friend," Brett said, with maybe a little too much emphasis on _wife_ , "and she's inviting us to the Gold Cup at Ascot. That is to say, she's inviting me and I'm inviting you. How's your luck these days?"

Danny made a face and waved one hand in the air-- so-so. He wasn't going to speculate, he was just going to let it build. You couldn't think about it too much, and talking about it? Forget it. That wasn't how it worked. Just wait for the right moment-- just wait and be ready.

"Ah, well," Brett said with a sigh. "Listen, what shall I tell Judith? Are you in? It's next Thursday, you know."

"That's when the Queen goes, right? Sure, why not? I haven't met the Queen... yet." 

Brett rolled his eyes and went back to his phone call. "Sorry about that, Judith. Yes, Danny and I will be there, the both of us." 

Well, fine. Danny went and rummaged around in Brett's kitchen. He didn't really want more coffee, but he started poking at Brett's fancy new coffee maker anyway. Brett was such a guy for gadgets, Danny had never seen anything like it. 

Out in the main room, he could hear Brett finishing up his call in a hurry: If you'll excuse me, Judith, kiss kiss, and all that, and then all of a sudden he was looming over Danny's shoulder. "Are you getting into trouble in here?" 

"I don't know." Danny waggled his eyebrows. "Are you getting into trouble out there?" 

"As I said, Judith and her husband, Lord Mandeville, are both very old and dear friends. She used to be a model, and now she has her own agency-- a bit of a hobby," Brett added, like it was a little embarrassing and maybe required explanation as to why a person would actually have a real job. Danny nodded tolerantly. "Anyway, she would take it as a personal favor if you and I would squire two of her up-and-coming talents at the races."

Danny forgot about the coffee maker for a second. Huh, maybe his luck wouldn't be with the horses. "Sure, okay, that's a smart idea. Lord Sinclair and So-and-So and Friend, losing their shirts in the society pages?"

"Well, depending on how your l--" Brett began, looking hopeful again, and Danny hurried to cut him off before he could kibosh everything by asking straight out about Danny's luck again. Ugh, it was like he didn't know _anything_.

"Uh, hey, your Grace, where's your English hospitality? Aren't you even gonna offer me a drink?"

"It's a little early, isn't it?"

"I mean like coffee, stupid," Danny said, and Brett winced as Danny started pressing buttons on the coffee maker again. "How does this thing work?"

"Do stop that," Brett said. Danny didn't stop. "There's a manual, you know. It's right there in the drawer--" 

"I don't need to read a manual to know how to make coffee! … Huh. Is this part supposed to come off?" Danny asked, and Brett leaned over him, grabbing both of Danny's wrists and pulling him back into his chest. "Hey, cut it out!"

"Daniel, don't think I've forgotten what you did to my answer-machine," Brett began. Danny hooked his ankle around Brett's leg, twisting and pushing Brett into the edge of the counter. Brett oof-ed satisfyingly and Danny reached out, stretching one finger towards the coffee maker.

"Look, I almost got it! Just give me a minute. Ugh, you are such an awful host," Danny grunted, struggling as Brett locked one of his long arms around Danny's shoulders. "I mean no wonder you're so unpopular, with manners like this--"

"Just leave it, I'll make coffee," Brett said, pulling Danny further away. "Just sit down."

"Oh, I take it back. What a doll you are," Danny said sweetly, tipping his head back against Brett's shoulder. "Someday you'll make some nice man very happy."

"You're hopeless," Brett said, sounding oddly breathless. This was usually about the time that he pushed Danny off, brushed his hands away, whatever. This time, Danny leaned back into Brett, letting Brett's arm take most of his weight, so that he couldn't let go unless he wanted to drop Danny on the kitchen floor. 

He caught Brett's eyes, upside down, and between one tick of the kitchen clock and the next, something sparked, something changed. All of a sudden Brett wasn't grabbing him, Brett was _holding_ him. Everywhere their bodies were touching, Danny could feel it-- his leg pressed against Brett's leg, his arm locked around Danny's shoulders, his fingers digging almost painfully into the muscle of Danny's arm. Brett, big and warm and breathing hard behind him.

Danny's eyes widened. It wasn't like he'd never thought about it. What Brett might be like in bed. Lazy, Danny usually thought, sleepy, like a big fluffy cat wanting to be stroked. Or maybe impatient, bossy, using his size and that way he had of snapping orders, maybe he'd want to push Danny around, pin him down on the blue silk sheets in the bedroom-- Okay, so yeah, he'd thought about it a lot, actually. But seducing Brett was like building a house of cards: every time he built it up again, careful, so careful, Brett knocked the whole thing down again and Danny had to start over. It was a fun little game, but... sometimes Danny wondered if it was ever going anywhere, that was all.

"Hey, listen," Danny said, "you never answered me about the Queen."

Brett blinked, then pushed him away, perfectly casual. "It's a private box, not the Royal Enclosure-- and I am _not_ taking you into the Royal Enclosure." Danny just nodded and smiled, straightening his jacket and brushing at his lapels like it was totally normal to start wrestling around with your buddy in the kitchen at eleven-thirty in the morning on a Tuesday. "The proper attire for gentlemen is morning dress, of course."

"No way," Danny argued just to argue, his mind still racing. When he'd woken up this morning, he'd had that feeling, his sixth sense going off like a distant siren-- well, all of a sudden those sirens were getting louder and louder. Was it _this_? It'd be a heck of a lucky day-- He pushed it out of his mind, instinctively. "You know I look like a penguin in a morning coat."

"Well, if you don't want to go," Brett demurred, "I'm sure Judith wouldn't mind if I had to squire both the girls by myself."

Danny glared at him. Brett looked back, like butter wouldn't melt in his mouth. 

"...and we'll go to my haberdasher's tomorrow, a very nice fellow, just over on Bond Street," Brett said quickly, "get you fitted for a top hat, and you'll look smashing." He smiled. "I give you my word, Daniel, you won't look like a penguin at all... not any more than you usually do, that is."

"What's _that_ supposed to mean?" Danny poked him in the chest. Tried to, anyway. Brett stepped easily out of range. 

"If you have to ask," he said, and walked out of the kitchen-- was his walk just a little stiffer than usual, or was that Danny's dirty mind? 

"If this is just a trick to get me in one of those outfits and then _you_ don't show up," Danny started, and heard Brett scoffing at him from across the flat. "I'm serious! You gotta be there, my luck doesn't run so hot without you there, you know that."

"And what is that supposed to mean?" Brett called out.

"Well, I was always lucky," Danny explained, following Brett out of the kitchen. Brett was all the way over by the bookcases, about as far away from Danny as he could get without going into the hall. Danny sighed. He'd pushed too far again. It'd be another year of sneaking up on Brett before he got another chance like that one in the kitchen. Ah, well. "You think my life was as crazy as this for-- I mean, for my whole life? Nah. It was you, kiddo. Ever since I met you, you're my good luck charm." He beamed at Brett. Sadly Brett was too far away to get the full effect.

"Well, it's nice to know where you stand, I suppose," Brett said to the book he was holding. Danny wasn't sure if he was supposed to hear that part. He opened his mouth, but then Brett turned around and talked over him. "Now, Daniel, I have some important calls to make this morning, so if you don't mind, I'll see you Tuesday on Bond Street. All right?"

Important calls, sure, Danny scoffed inwardly, but he just said "Sure thing, Your Lordship," and let himself out. He could've glanced back at Brett on the way out the door, but he didn't.

Let your luck sneak up on you, he told himself. Just take it easy. Don't push.

* * *

Ascot was a hell of a lot of fun, even if Brett did tell Danny five times-- _five times_ , no kidding-- that if Danny started doing an Eliza Doolittle impression, Brett would shove him off the balcony. 

"Please," Danny said, the fourth or fifth time, as they were rising up in the elevator, "when have I ever really embarrassed you in front of your people?"

"Do you want it chronologically, or alphabetically?" Brett asked. Not a great comeback, and he actually did look a little nervous. Of course, His Grace never talked about what was actually on his mind, so he couldn't really be too worried about Danny using the wrong fork or scandalizing a duchess, but there was definitely something on his mind.

"Look, I promise, no Lerner & Loewe, all right? You know I can't sing anyway. Don't worry about it." By that time they were at the box, and Danny figured that was probably the last time he was going to have alone with Brett all day, so he gave up on figuring it out. At least for now.

Thanks to Brett's nagging and worrying, they were practically the first people there. He introduced Danny to Lord and Lady Mandeville-- Judy and Tommy, nice people-- and maybe half a dozen other people drifted in over the next hour or so. Some of them hung out on the balcony watching the crowd and gossiping about people Danny didn't know, and some of them sat around in the box eating strawberries and gossiping about people Danny didn't know. Good times for the whole family. Brett had elbowed his way to the best spot on the balcony and parked himself there with a pair of binoculars pretty much as soon as they'd arrived; Danny kept himself occupied with a glass of champagne and a race card until the girls showed up. 

Maybe Judith's modeling agency was a hobby but if these two girls were any indication, Danny ought to be buying stock in it, and pronto. He dropped his race card somewhere and didn't worry about it. Nothing on _that_ page was making his luck sing, anyway. But this? This could be good. He watched as Judith welcomed them in, exclaiming over their dresses and giving them air-kisses on each cheek. The first one was curvy and dark with a bored, devilish slant to her mouth; her friend, a pale baby-faced blonde with round blue eyes, was hanging back looking shy but excited. 

Danny poked Brett in the ribs, then elbowed him until he turned and looked at something besides horses being walked up and down. "Quick, which one do you like," he asked, "Odette or Odile?"

He could feel Brett startle but didn't give him the satisfaction of looking over. "Swan Lake, Daniel?"

Danny brushed a little imaginary lint off his waistcoat as Judith pointed out Danny and Brett. "Hey, back in New York I was considered a pretty cultured guy."

"Whether that says more about you, or more about New York," Brett began, then quickly added "Odile," as Judith gestured for them to come back into the box. 

"Thought so," Danny said, pushing Brett ahead of him. "Come on, Prince, _andiamo_."

* * *

Jilly (the blonde) was twenty-two and shy as a mouse and had worked for Judith for six months now, and really loved London, and lived with her mother-- "Oh, I didn't mean to say that," she said in a pained whisper, flushed splotchily, and ducked her head, totally disappearing under the floppy brim of her hat. "Oh, no, oh, no-- am I turning red?"

"Red? What do you mean, red?" Danny handed her his champagne. "Listen, Jilly, you drink that, and we'll go down to the paddock to see the horses, how about that?" Which would mean putting his top hat back on, ugh. But it was cooler out in the hall than in the box, and a little walking would help even out Jilly's color. 

What else would help... Danny grabbed two more glasses and neatly switched out Jilly's empty one for a full one as they left the box. He stopped her at the elevator, waited until she finished her second glass, and handed her the third one. "Here, Jilly, one more for the road."

"Oh, I, oh," Jilly stammered, but she drank obediently.

"Good. Now listen. I lied, you were blushing..."

"--oh, no!" Jilly squeaked and flailed. Danny carefully took the empty glass out of her hand.

"But-- come on, listen to me, kiddo," he said, stroking a finger down her cheek with his free hand, "the champagne is helping. It gives you a glow, evens everything out... you can feel it, can't you? Your hands and feet, they're all tingly, aren't they?"

"Yes," Jilly said, wide-eyed. 

"Good," Danny said. "Here, hold this." He handed Jilly his top hat, put an arm around her waist, and pulled her close. "Tingles everywhere?" he murmured against her cheek, and she nodded shakily, turning her head and parting her lips. Danny smiled and kissed her on the mouth, long and slow and sweet. "Better?" he said, drawing back. She nodded, pressing her lips together. She was staring at him like he was the second coming of Valentino, and her eyes were glowing like searchlights. "Good." He settled his hat back on his head at a jaunty angle. "Come on, beautiful, let's go see some horses."

* * *

Jilly's hand stole into his as they toured the paddock, and Danny squeezed it occasionally, murmuring nonsense in her ear that she probably couldn't hear over the noise of the crowd. She blushed and glowed up at him, and they got their picture taken enough times to cover every society page in London. Danny would've liked the attention a little more if he hadn't been wearing a top hat, but what the hell.

Jilly was quiet on the way back, and she stopped the the elevator as it was rising up again into the bandstand. "Danny," she said, "You're so sweet..."

Danny smiled, doffed his hat and kissed her-- he was getting pretty good at that move. It was nice. Kissing in the elevator, what would the kids think of next...

After a while Jilly leaned her head back. "Are you going to Judith's party after the races?"

"I'm invited," Danny said.

Jilly smiled up at him, all of a sudden nervous again for some reason. "I just wish we could... we could go somewhere quieter. Go someplace and be alone..."

Danny blinked. Everybody knew what it meant when you said 'go someplace and be alone', didn't they? Even a kid like Jilly had to know it didn't mean canasta. "You mean, uh..."

"Do you... have a flat here in London?" Jilly said bravely. She was clearly trying to sound cosmopolitan and modern, but the champagne must have been wearing off, because she was going splotchy again.

"Yeah," Danny said, "but, I... Sweetie, this is all so sudden."

"Oh, don't, don't, I'm not a child!" Jilly stamped her foot. "I just want to-- Everybody _else_ is..."

"Sure, but--" Danny's mind raced. The elevator seemed a little stuffy all of a sudden. "Don't you want it to be with a boy you like? I mean someone you're in love with?"

"Oh, it was!" Jilly breathed, then quickly looked away. "But it ended when I decided to come to London and work for Judith. He doesn't see why I want a career," she said resentfully. "And... and from what Sophie says..."

Danny grinned. This sounded promising. "What does Sophie say?"

"Sophie says it can be better than..." She gulped. "Sophie says it's better. With a man who knows what he's doing. And you... You seem... And I _do_ like you, Danny."

Danny felt a strange, overwhelming sense of fondness, and leaned in to kiss Jilly's forehead. He couldn't believe he was about to do this, but-- no. He couldn't. No way. 

"Honey, listen. There are plenty of nice boys in London who know what they're doing. Trust me: _plenty_. Now, don't think it's because you're not gorgeous-- you are. You're a gorgeous, sexy girl," he said, tipping her chin up. "But I'm old enough to be--" He coughed, strangling a little on the words. "What I mean to say is, I wish I could, but I can't, because... there's someone else, I'm in love with someone else."

"But you kissed me!"

"Hey, I said I was in love, not married."

"Oh..."

" _She's_ married, is the thing," Danny said, in a real stroke of genius. He stared away into the cloudy distance, or into the corner of the elevator, anyway. "Yeah. She chose another. And now all I can do is worship, you know, from afar."

"Oh, Danny," Jilly said, patting his hands. "I-- I think I could tell your heart was already taken."

"Yeah. Well, you're a bright kid," Danny said, chucking her under the chin. "Come on, let's go get you some more champagne."

As they reached the Mandeville's box again, Brett and Sophie were just leaving, heading down to place some bets. Everybody stopped and everybody chatted for a bit about how pretty everything was and how exciting things were, and Brett was doing everything but kicking Danny in the ankle to let him know that it was time to trade partners.

Danny didn't see why there was such a rush. Sophie seemed like fun-- and if he turned Jilly over to Brett she was going to be splotchy as jam on toast in under thirty seconds, unless His Lordship's usual tone just went over her head, which it very well might-- "All right, stop kicking me," he hissed at Brett, and leaned over to blink his eyelashes at Sophie. "Hey, sweetheart, you and me haven't had a chance to chat. Jilly, why don't you sit down with Brett a while. Have some lobster. Sophie, let's see your race card, what have you got here, what's looking good?"

* * *

Danny reluctantly put his hat back on and escorted Sophie down the hallway towards the elevator. Halfway down, she pressed the 'stop' button, turned so that she was blocking the panel with her body, put one hand on her hip, and smiled like a sphinx.

Danny made a mental note to ask Judith what kind of system she was using to _find_ these girls. He smiled back.

"Mr. Wilde--" Sophie began.

"Why so formal?" Danny came closer.

"Because this is a business proposal." Sophie reached into her sleeve and pulled out a small sheaf of papers, holding them out so that the end poked into Danny's chest. "I have a boyfriend who works in the Overseas Investment department at Shipton & Delaware, the merchant bankers? And he recommended to his board of directors that they invest in a very intriguing bit of development-- the client is going to be very influential in some upcoming decisions regarding foreign oil concessions. But the board thinks it's too risky. They rejected Alex's proposal."

"Alex is your boyfriend," Danny said, and Sophie nodded. 

"Well, I happened to mention to Alex that I'd be at Ascot with some of Judith's friends, and I happened to mention Lord Sinclair, and Alex said, _oh, he's the one that goes around with Danny Wilde_ \-- I mean, the one that's good friends with Danny Wilde-- and he said, _If only I had an investor like Danny Wilde, I wouldn't need the bank_ , and I said, why not ask him? I mean do you have ambition or don't you?" 

"Behind every great man... and there she is," Danny said. He felt a prickle running up and down the back of his neck. "Foreign oil, you said. Where exactly?"

"It's all very hush hush, very confidential," Sophie said, leaning in. She pressed the papers into Danny's gloved hand, folding his race card around them so they were half-hidden from view. "I certainly couldn't say... Well. Shall we place our bets?"

She started the elevator going again. They emerged at the bottom and Danny put one hand on her elbow and followed her blindly through the crowd, studying the proposal that her boyfriend at the merchant bank had worked up for his board. It was pretty tightly put together; most of the obvious contingencies covered and even some of the non-obvious ones. The foreign aspect was probably what had put them off. Not a lot of people investing in that part of the world these days. But Danny vaguely knew the principal investor, had played a hand of cards with him once at a party in Buenos Aires, and he'd seemed like a decent, stand-up guy. And Danny could usually tell about people.

"I don't know anything about horses," Sophie confessed as they got in line to place their bets. "Should I just pick one at random?"

Danny ran his eye down the list of horses, looking for an omen, and grinned. "Yeah, pick that one. Random Shot."

Sophie laughed and marked it down.

* * *

Danny was thinking hard as he escorted Sophie back through the crowd. Sophie didn't push; she stayed just as quiet and let him think. He liked the feel of it, definitely. But it would be a big investment, no doubt about that. It would mean Danny wouldn't have a lot of cash at the ready for the next while. And he'd been meaning to start looking around for a place in England, someplace to buy, not just rent like his Mayfair flat. Nothing too fancy, just a little country place he could get out to when the city got to be too much. If he went in on this deal now, he'd have to put that off until at least spring next year... 

Well, anyway, maybe after the race he could skip out on Judy and Tommy's party, just take off with Sophie and go meet her boyfriend. It wouldn't be too late for a meeting. He sounded like a smart kid. He'd maybe missed one or two points of interest in his proposal, but he was probably Sophie's age, just a kid really. But when Danny tried to think about the facts and figures, he kept tuning into the wrong channel somehow. All he could see was that little English cottage, with a garden and mossy gables and a well, and just everything really _English_... And maybe he could buy a horse, and Brett could teach him to ride... Danny had always wanted to learn how to ride a horse.

The elevator dinged as they reached their level of the grandstand. Danny sighed.

"I can't do it," he said, looking over at Sophie. "I just... sorry. Listen, I'm gonna write down some names here," he said, digging around in the pocket of his jacket for his pen. "Tell him to call around to these guys. Or maybe have you do it, because you're a heck of a sales-woman, sweetie, and I think you guys are gonna make a great team--"

Sophie's eyebrows drew together as she frowned. "Is there something wrong with the proposal? You don't think it will--" 

"No, I think it will," Danny said. "I just-- You know how sometimes you get a feeling about things?"

She shook her head. 

"Yeah, probably not," Danny said. "But I got a feeling about a little English house in the country, close to a river, maybe, in a town with a real English pub..." He trailed off, because he could tell that it wasn't making any sense; not to Sophie. "Well, tell your boyfriend it looks good to me. Danny Wilde approved. He's got good instincts-- tell him that from me. In business and in girls."

Sophie didn't look too pleased for some reason, but she buttoned her lip about it, anyway. "Well... thank you for your input, Mr. Wilde."

Danny shrugged. "Thanks for the offer, kiddo."

"I hope you weren't quite so businesslike about it to poor Jilly," Sophie said, and burst into laughter.

"Hey, what kind of guy do you think I am? I let her down easy. Light as a feather," Danny said, taking Sophie's arm to help her up the steps into the box.

Sophie looked at him just before they parted and shook her head wryly. "It's your lucky day, Danny Wilde-- and you've just struck out twice."

Danny stared after her. In fact, he stood in the doorway until someone poked him in the back with a walking stick. "Right," he said, "sorry," got out of everyone's way, and went to sit down in the corner.

He pulled his crumpled race card out of his pocket and stared at it. It wasn't like Random Shot was running 25-to-1 or anything, so why was this feeling still building up? Why could he still hear it like sirens in the distance? Feel it, like lightning in the air?

"You're allowed to take your hat off in the box, Daniel," said a low cool voice, and Danny looked up into Brett's narrow eyes.

"Right," Danny said, and set it on the chair next to him.

"The Gold Cup is about to start," Brett said, gesturing to the balcony, where everyone was lined up with their opera glasses and binoculars.

"I don't think my luck is running to horses today," Danny confessed.

"I know all about how your luck is running," Brett sniffed. Danny cocked his head to the side and looked at him, really looked. The crowd outside got louder and louder, and Brett reached down to tug at Danny's arm. "Come on, it's starting."

"So listen," Danny said, catching him before he could turn. They were alone in the box, blocked off from the balcony by the table and its empty champagne bottles and slightly wilting flowers. "You like the country, right? I mean you could teach me to ride a horse."

"Danny," Brett said, grabbing on-- so _pushy_ , his Lordship was-- "come _on_."

"I'm coming, I'm coming," Danny said, and stood up, and kissed him on the mouth.

It takes about five minutes to run a mile-and-a-half race at Ascot. Danny missed the whole thing, lost in the taste of brandy and cigars in Brett's mouth and the way his hands clamped down on Danny's arms, shaking him slightly as Brett shook-- or was that the grandstand shaking? Was that his heart hammering or the crowd roaring?

Brett shoved him away just as the crowd noise reached its peak. Danny breathed out, panting. 

"So. Did we win?" He reached up, his hand shaking, to touch Brett's face.

"Don't you touch me," Brett said. "How dare you?"

"What?"

Brett knocked Danny's hand away, and walked out. 

"You forgot your hat!" Danny called after him, and Brett stopped.

Danny tossed him his hat. Brett caught it and walked off.

Well, that could have gone better. Danny sighed.

He joined the crowd coming in from the balcony, bubbling over about how exciting everything was. To add insult to injury, Random Shot had come in a close second. Danny sighed, reached for the champagne, and started making Brett's apologies to all his friends.

* * *

After the festivities were over, Danny gave Brett a couple more hours to stew, then headed over and let himself in with the emergency key.

Brett was lying on the couch in his pajamas, reading a book. He raised an eyebrow at Danny. Danny wandered over, took Brett's book out of his hand, dropped it on the floor, and sat next to him, one hand on Brett's nice, warm thigh.

"You're drunk," Brett said. He sounded grim and almost happy about it. The way he always got when the situation was about to live down to his lowest expectations. 

"And you're adorable," Danny replied, leaning forward. Brett twisted around, putting his feet down on the floor, and Danny ended up purring into the back of Brett's neck. Brett bristled like a cat petted backwards, and Danny grinned. He couldn't help it. Considering how picky His Most Exalted Lordship could be about the little things in life, and how little real hardship he'd ever actually lived through, Danny considered it his assigned mission in life to yank the guy's chain and ruffle his feathers every now and again.

If that maybe resulted, this time, in some other bits getting yanked and ruffled, well, Danny had no objection.

"And you're _drunk_ ," Brett said, leaning forward, out of Danny's range. Danny lurched after him, catching himself on the back of the couch. He sighed, rolled his eyes at the ceiling and vaulted over the couch rather than walk around. Brett parked himself on the loveseat, and Danny casually took a seat on the same velvet cushion as Brett. Brett leaned away, as if Danny smelled funny or something. 

"Someone's awful tense," Danny murmured, scooting closer. "You should've stuck around. You could use some fun, take it from me. Hey, listen, what's been eating you lately, anyway?" Brett turned his head, gazing hard at the pattern of the wallpaper. Danny kept talking. The words didn't matter. What mattered was getting closer, crossing that dangerous inch of space, closer and closer-- all Brett had to do was just relax his spine, and Danny would be brushing his lips against the soft skin of Brett's neck. 

He didn't relax. But he didn't move away, either. His breathing just picked up a little, and what Danny could see of his face was turning decidedly pink. Danny was either about to score, or Brett was about to go into one of his icy rages and start slinging those classy English put-downs that (translated into good old American) basically boiled down to _fuck you and the horse you rode in on, Danny Wilde._

The odds weren't great, but what the hell. Danny had always liked long odds. Right when everything was looking darkest: that was usually when his lucky streak kicked in.

He took a short breath and moved in to press his mouth to Brett's neck, lips just slightly parted. Brett was a classy guy, after all. He got a stiff-armed shove to the chest for his trouble. Startled, Danny slipped off the loveseat, falling flat on his ass. He groped around behind himself. Whatever Brett was reading, it had damn sharp corners. 

He pushed it further under the couch, then looked up at Brett. He seemed just as startled, then firmed his jaw, standing up. "You're drunk and you're _bored_ \--" he began, and Danny leaned back on his hands, wide-eyed and listening, as he stretched his legs out and tangled them with Brett's ankles. Danny was still wearing his boots, but Brett was barefoot on the shag carpet, and Danny rubbed his toes against Brett's ankles, smiling. Funny, he hadn't seen that shove coming. Maybe he _was_ a little drunk. 

"Drunk and bored and lazy--" 

And Brett was still going on. Danny nodded along, honestly trying not to grin. Oh, His Lordship was perfectly, icily polite ninety-nine percent of the time, because he didn't give a damn ninety-nine percent of the time. He could be cool, correct and implacable through an interrogation or an earthquake. British reserve, he called it. A recipe for an ulcer, Danny called it. When you got him mad-- good and angry, too angry to watch his mouth or pretend like he didn't care-- that's how you knew you were really getting under his skin. "And you're bothering me," Brett concluded, still red in the face, arms crossed defensively over his chest. "I am not here for you to-- to hedge your bets at a horse race!"

"Is _that_ what you--" Danny stared. "Look, Your Lordship--"

"Get out, Danny. Go find yourself a girl," Brett sneered, but Danny had his number now.

"You just called me Danny, did you hear that?" Danny said. Brett looked so _tall_ from down here. Like a statue-- like one of those statues in Trafalgar Square or something, way up on a pedestal. Lonely and cold. "You hardly ever call me Danny, did you know that? Why is that, why are you the only one who ever calls me Daniel? My _Ma_ didn't even call me Daniel. You know what _I_ think--?"

"I don't care what you think!" Brett kicked Danny's feet away-- not too hard, Danny noted-- and retreated to the far end of the room. He raised a hand to push his hair back. Not that he needed to, it was barely out of place. Certainly not as disheveled as _Danny_ would have liked. He let himself look, and for once he didn't bother to hide how much he liked the view. Brett caught his eye and flushed a darker shade of pink.

"So listen," Danny started over. Again, the words didn't matter. Between him and Brett, the exact words had never really mattered. What mattered was the light in Brett's eyes, the way he had one hand out and brushing against the soft drapery covering the windows. The way his throat worked when Danny tipped his head back, fluttered his eyelashes and smiled. "What I think is, you oughta have a few drinks... and you oughta come down here," Danny said, stroking the thick, plush carpet. "Since I'm not getting up any time soon. Bring me one while you're at it," he said, because it actually looked like Brett was headed for the side table with the brandy and soda. "And, Brett--"

Of course Brett walked on past the brandy, and only stopped at the door his bedroom. He paused, hand on the doorknob, as if waiting for Danny to object. Danny raised his eyebrows. He wasn't gonna drag Brett into this kicking and screaming. Not _literally_.

"We won't speak of this again," Brett said with great finality, went into his bedroom, and closed the door.

Danny scrambled up off the floor, kneeling on the couch, shouting after Brett as he disappeared. "Far as I'm concerned, we ain't spoken of it _yet_ \--!" 

He did think about letting it go. Considered it for at least a second. Then he went over to Brett's door and started banging on it. "Brett, you're not gonna let me sleep out here on the couch tonight, are you?"

"It's your own fault if you're lonely tonight," Brett shouted back.

"Why would I want a girl like Jilly when I could go home with you?" Danny said, and waited. "Why would I want to win a bet on a stupid horse race when I could go home with _you_?" 

Brett opened his door. He was standing there in the dark, and he looked strange, and a little sad. "Hey, baby," Danny said quietly. He reached out, curling a few fingers loosely around Brett's wrist. "You wouldn't want to ruin my lucky streak, would you?"

Brett closed his eyes. "And what happens when your luck runs out, Daniel?"

Danny shrugged. "That's then-- this is now. What are you worried about?" 

Brett opened his eyes, meeting Danny's gaze. "I haven't always been so lucky."

"Maybe I got enough luck for the both of us."

"I just... Honestly, Daniel, I..." Brett swallowed. 

Danny leaned a little closer, warmth bubbling up inside him as he got close enough to smell Brett's fancy cologne. He breathed hot on Brett's neck, just to feel him shiver, then tipped his head back. With Danny in boots and Brett in bare feet... Danny still couldn't make it work all on his own. 

Brett was going to have to bend. 

"How drunk are you?" Brett asked cautiously, laying his hand flat against Danny's heart. Holding him off... but not pushing him away, not this time.

"Oh, for crying out loud, Mayfair..." Danny rolled his eyes, got a good grip on the silky lapels of Brett's pajamas, and pulled him down into a kiss. Slow and clumsy on Brett's part at first, but then somehow his arms were around Danny's shoulders, trapping his arms between their bodies, holding him close. 

After a long moment, Danny turned his head so that he could breathe.

"Hey, Brett," he said, low in his throat.

"Yes?" Brett said.

"Take me to bed. Or put me to bed. Your choice." He leaned back, as much as Brett's embrace would let him. "But just so you know... I won't be drunk in the morning." That being said, he relaxed back into Brett's arms for the second time that day, letting Brett take all his weight. Brett swayed, then regained his balance, pulling Danny close again.

"No," he muttered into Danny's hair, "but you'll still be a rotten, pushy, loud-mouthed, selfish son of a--" 

"That's the spirit," Danny said happily, leaning into Brett's broad chest. He wondered if Brett would drop him again if he just reached around and gave him a nice encouraging squeeze, right where it counted--

"No," Brett said sharply, "don't even think about it. We're going to sleep, and that's all." Taking Danny by the shoulder, he turned him around, pushing him into the bedroom. "Forward march, soldier."

"Bossy," Danny said, "that's what you are. Don't tell me I don't know what I'm getting into, _I_ know. Spoiled, snot-nosed, prissy, you always gotta have everything your own way--"

Brett gave him another hard push, and Danny went sprawling onto the bed.

"Uncultured, arrogant, loutish _clod,_ " Brett mumbled, unbuttoning his pajama top.

"You need a hand with that?" Danny offered. 

"You shut up," Brett said, and Danny shrugged and started rolling around on the bed, taking off his clothes. He tossed his shirt off one side of the bed and struggled out of his briefs and trousers, kicking them off the other side.

Brett went awfully quiet.

"Hey," Danny said, wiggling around on the bed to look at him, "what happened to the sweet talk, Mayfair?"

Brett had retreated over to the wardrobe. He was frozen in place, down to nothing but his undies and holding his blue silk pajamas in front of him like a shield. 

"Loutish clod, I think you said," Danny prompted. He raised an arm, tucking a hand behind his head. "Uncultured, you said. Well, I dunno about you British public school boys, but let me tell you something about the kind of education you get growing up on 147th street in the Bronx with a mouth as pretty as--"

"Daniel, don't you ever stop talking?" Brett complained. Dropping his pajamas, he crawled onto the bed, stopping awkwardly before any part of his body touched any part of Danny's.

"I keep talking till I close the deal-- you know me."

"Oh, I know you," Brett said. He reached out, running a hand over Danny's chest, trailing his fingers across and down to Danny's ribs.

"Oh, Your Lordship," Danny said breathily as Brett's hand slipped down, almost by accident, to the spot where it was going to do the most good. "This is all so sudden."

Brett gave him a slightly more-than-affectionate squeeze, and Danny's hands came up to his shoulders, pulling Brett over and on top of him and _down_ , finally, till they were skin to skin. Brett lost his grip on Danny's dick, but that was okay, because Brett made a low noise deep in his throat and now he was kissing Danny hard, almost viciously, taking Danny's head in both of his hands, taking charge of the kiss, forceful and arrogant. Was that fifteen generations of titled nobility at work, or was that just Brett being a spoiled brat? Who could say. Either way, lucky for His Lordship, it sent shivers down Danny's spine. 

He hummed into the kiss, letting Brett have his little moment, then braced himself and twisted. He flipped Brett onto his back and bounced on top of him, laying kisses on his silly wide-eyed face, his pretty chiseled jaw, his open mouth. "So, how do you want to do this? I mean, who's driving this thing?"

"You're asking _me_?" Brett said, still a little goggle-eyed. He shrugged, blinking, then smiled. "Flip a coin? Heads I win--"

"--tails you lose?" Danny finished in unison with him, and they grinned at each other. "Hey, Your Lordship, take me, I'm yours."

"I'm trying, I'm trying," Brett said, reaching up, and Danny met him halfway, still smiling.

**Author's Note:**

> Dear alpheratz: if you noticed that I changed the title of the story after reveal, sorry about that. ^_^ The new one is much better! 
> 
> As a random historical note, the original winner of the Ascot Gold Cup race that Danny and Brett attended was disqualified for substance abuse. "Random Shot" ended up being the official winner after all. Danny and Brett will find that out... whenever they end up getting out of bed. *G*


End file.
